First, I’m telling you that an amazing donor has offered to contribute up to $50,000 to RPM’s fundraiser if that donation will move us into first place at the end of the challenge.

Why is RPM so competitive?

Because Macy’s will award a $100,000 grant to the top fundraiser!

Why is RPM so greedy?

It’s not greed. It’s the means for dogs like my foster Omar and cats like those you see writing Pet Prose on this blog to be pulled from Houston’s kill shelters and get into traveling shape. It takes a lot of time, energy, and yes, MONEY, to make this happen. RPM’s board members are unpaid. RPM’s paid staff is kept lean and efficient so that donations can go to animal care and transport.

Please go read this story about Rudyard on Facebook to get an idea of what RPM’s staff does to make miracles happen. Rudyard’s is a story of compassion and hope, and I see stories like his over and over every day. At the end of the story is a link to the medical fundraising team. THIS is where I’d love for you to click and donate any amount. And if you don’t want to read about Rudyard, just please go here and know that every single donation gets us closer to another $150,000 to rescue, rehabilitate, and transport Houston’s homeless dogs and cats to forever homes.

THANK YOU from Omar and me. And by the way, Maddie was adopted. Hermosa was adopted. Every dog I’ve fostered who you met on my blog was adopted into forever homes after they traveled. It’s why I foster even when my heart breaks to say goodbye. It’s why I believe in Rescued Pets Movement. Thank you for every time you’ve shown support for RPM and the work Tom and I do. You are magnificent friends to us and to animals.

“I don’t know why I have the dreams I do. Once for two weeks in a row I dreamed about actor Eric Roberts every night. I’ve honestly never given much thought to actor Eric Roberts, but there he was anyway. Each night the dream was a variation on a falling out we’d had and how he no longer wanted to have anything to do with me. I searched my brain for anyone in my life who looked like actor Eric Roberts or was named Eric or Robert or Rob or Robby or even Bob with whom I might have unresolved issues, but there was no one. Just as quickly as he arrived, actor Eric Roberts left my dreams without ever explaining his anger. To this day, I still can’t see him on TV or in a movie without feeling a little bitter. Couldn’t he at least have said goodbye?

There were more dream series of that nature, but recently, my dreams had been about Rocky, the squirrel from the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons, only he spoke French and I was his English-speaking nanny who didn’t understand a word he said. I woke up every morning exhausted by the frustrations of my job.

‘Now, Gail,’ my friend Darla said, ‘I know you’re not a believer in better living through pharmaceuticals, but these dreams you have sound like Vicodin dreams. Are you hiding a little opioid problem?’

‘I don’t even take aspirin!’ I protested.

Darla cackled and said, ‘At least it’s the squirrel. Imagine if you were a moose nanny.’

‘It would be fine if the moose and I spoke the same language,’ I said with a sniff.”

From Pollywag’s short story “Now Back to Moose and Squirrel.”

I take photos. I write. Mostly I only take photos of Rescued Pets Movement’s rescued dogs and cats. Since working and volunteering don’t leave me a lot of time to write, I’m spending 2017 borrowing from what these dogs and cats are writing. They said it’s okay.

Pollywag named her characters Darla and Gail in tribute to a dog and her wonderful person who contributed to my Saving Pets fundraiser.

“Some days it felt like she had to work hard not to be cynical. It could be that she was tired to the bone. It could be that she never felt surprised by people any more. She’d had many years to see the best and worst of them, but it was their predictability, finally, that had worn her down.

Still, every night around dusk, she took the tools of her profession to the same spot outside the fenced park where the vendors gathered to wait for the tourists. She set up her table and covered it with the beautiful cloth a friend had brought from her travels in India decades before. The colors had dimmed, but in the light cast by the period street lamps and her candles, that didn’t matter. The fabric was just exotic enough to lend authenticity to the service she offered.

She placed her crystals and wands strategically on the table and took her cards from their scrap of silk. A stick of nag champa and a cleansing ritual, and she was ready for business. Until the first clients came, she could observe at leisure. She noticed the skateboarder, whose name she didn’t know, and his dog Milly. Some of the others didn’t like the skateboarders, but she’d long ago stopped being quite so precious about the marketplace. Skateboarders, musicians, beggars, shamans, or charlatans–there was room for all of them. Besides, Milly was a beautifully behaved dog and her young man was always polite. His eyes were intelligent and had a bit of mischief. As far as she was concerned, the world needed a little less meanness and a little more mischief.

Behind her, on the other side of the little park, she heard the cellist and the violinist begin. She closed her eyes for just a moment, breathing in whatever good energy there was, and then heard a sound she’d never thought to hear again, certainly not in the middle of the city. She tried to process the clamor of people’s reactions to what they’d heard, then opened her eyes just as the skateboarder and Milly hurried by. He tossed her a pouch and said, ‘Hold on to that until I find you again.’

She felt a moment of confusion and then, magnificently, wonder. The night was suddenly full of surprise.”

From Spyro’s novel Scorpio’s Deck.

I take photos. I write. Mostly I only take photos of Rescued Pets Movement’s rescued dogs and cats. Since working and volunteering don’t leave me a lot of time to write, I’m spending 2017 borrowing from what these dogs and cats are writing. They said it’s okay.

I’m thrilled to share that Rescued Pets Movement was the leading fundraiser with $146,978 in donations. That means RPM will be awarded the grand prize of an additional $50,000. A lot of great people contributed, including those who donated to Tim’s and my teams. I’m so grateful to you all, and I’m slowly fulfilling my pledge to name animals in your honor or to persuade the RPM dog and cat scribes to include you in their Pet Prose.

Spay and neuter, TNR, transport, and adoption are making a positive difference!

“It was impossible for him to convince himself he was doing nothing wrong in light of the subterfuge he practiced to set everything up. He made the reservation at a restaurant where he knew she’d never go. He told no one what he was up to so there would be no chance of anyone accidentally or maliciously telling her. He chose Thursday because that was the night she had yoga, and he was usually on his own for dinner anyway. The day before and the morning of, he changed nothing in the way of his grooming, his choice of wardrobe, or his behavior.

He would not be one of those men who got caught because he was careless.

So when the server set his steak in front of him, with its side of crisp, steamed asparagus, the reflection of the candlelight flickering seductively on his glass of red wine, he couldn’t understand why the knife and fork were too heavy to lift. Had the butter on the warm bread been tainted with a strong dose of conscience?

He gave the steak one last longing look and motioned the server back over.

‘Is something wrong, sir?’

‘I’m sure it’s fine, but you can take it away and bring me the check. Don’t worry; I’ll tip you. Here’s another tip. If you love steak, never fall in love with and marry a vegetarian.'”

From Tommy’s work in progress.

I take photos. I write. Mostly I only take photos of Rescued Pets Movement’s rescued dogs and cats. Since working and volunteering don’t leave me a lot of time to write, I’m spending 2017 borrowing from what these dogs and cats are writing. They said it’s okay.

I have my own fundraising team for Rescued Pets Movement’s Michelson Found Animals Saving Pets Challenge 2017. You can see how to donate by clicking here. Right now, I have ZERO DOLLARS. I need help!

If you’ve been following Pet Prose, you know that many of RPM’s rescued dogs and cats have been sharing excerpts from their writing on my blog. If you contribute to my team, a future author will include you as a character in their work! You’ve always been quite a character–now everyone will know it.

Or if you prefer, I can name one of RPM’s rescued dogs after you or the name of your choice (names should be ten letters or less and G rated).

Have a little fun, give a little money (NO AMOUNT IS TOO SMALL and you can opt out of paying the CrowdRise fee), and help RPM save more dogs and cats! (And also keep me from having zero fundraising dollars.)

Feel free to link to this post from your FB or Twitter account. I thank you and so does Gerald, pictured above. He’s safe and ready to travel next week to his new home because of the kindness of folks like you.

“In a different world, it would have been the beginning of a romantic comedy with America’s sweetheart of the moment. Lifestyle blogger is invited to speak at a conference in Chicago. Packs light in her father’s old hand-me-down black Samsonite. Flight is delayed. Grabs suitcase out of baggage claim and races outside the terminal. Takes forever to get a cab, so when she arrives at the host hotel, she asks the desk to hold her suitcase until she can check into her room later.

Her talk is a success! They laugh in all the right places and stand in line to meet her and get her autograph. She enjoys her little taste of celebrity. Finally she checks in and her suitcase is brought to her room.

Except when she opens it, it isn’t packed with her comfy loungewear or the bath salts, scented oils, and face masks and moisturizers she’s been planning to spoil herself with before joining other conference attendees for dinner and drinks. Her little black dress and strappy heels are also missing.

She stares dumbly at the thick packets of files jammed into the suitcase. She opens a few, and as the words and numbers begin to register on a brain that can barely remember the access code to the gate of her apartment complex, she has a nightmarish realization. She is Emma Stone or Anna Kendrick dropped without warning into a Jason Bourne movie.

Her mind races–call the desk? wipe off her fingerprints and throw the suitcase out the window? figure out if she took the wrong suitcase at the airport or if the hotel made the mix-up?

Does some international spy have her bag, and how long will it take the KGB or Interpol or the CIA to track her down? She’s not built for this.

Come on, come on, she reproaches herself, the world is not always about Will Smith or Harrison Ford or Daniel Craig.

‘What would Super Spy Angelina Jolie do?’ she asks the suitcase, then claps her hand over her mouth and scans the ceiling for where the bugs are likely to be planted.”

From Peyton’s work in progress I Can’t Even Pronounce John le Carré.

I take photos. I write. Mostly I only take photos of Rescued Pets Movement’s rescued dogs and cats. Since working and volunteering don’t leave me a lot of time to write, I’m spending 2017 borrowing from what these dogs and cats are writing. They said it’s okay.